


You Can Keep The Ring

by vanishing_time



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Deazzello, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_time/pseuds/vanishing_time
Summary: Things soon will be like before Joe ever met John. Except they won't.
Relationships: John Deacon/Joe Mazzello
Comments: 44
Kudos: 31
Collections: Deazzello Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

Things have been weird for a while now.

The quiet nights have been becoming more and more frequent, and they aren't cozy, pleasant nights in, cuddling under the covers and drinking chocolate. No. They are as if there were no words left to say, no mutual dreams to work towards, getting unfamiliar after two worlds had collided, parting ways again.

Joe's restless, and John is cold and distant.

Joe can't even pinpoint the day it started.

Because it didn't start.

If John has been hiding a secret, he's been doing it pretty damn well, because Joe couldn't put his finger on it at all.

He asked what's wrong. He asked it three different occasions, and all he got was a soft chuckle — a very distinct, unique sound that always made his heart flutter, but that now only made him feel like a child being ignored and pushed aside.

"Nothing's wrong, dear," John said, the endearment sounding empty, the chuckle foreign.

Joe is going mad.

Nothing's wrong.

Nothing, nothing.

John's mind seems to be somewhere else nowadays. Joe watches him as John’s looking over his book, not even reading, just staring into the void for hours.

Joe wonders if John has someone else on his mind.

"You know you can tell me everything, right?" He asks John on one occasion, a desperate attempt to make things good again, and John smiles at him, the smile not meaning anything, his fingers cold in Joe's hands, the touch stiff and dismissive. 

"I know. But it's nothing, really. I just feel a bit down."

"Why? Is something wrong? Can I help?"

No answer to his questions, only half-truths and empty phrases, and John is absentmindedly caressing Joe's cheek, and he can't tell what's behind the emptiness in those eyes.

It's been a few days. It feels like a thousand.

He asked John out to dinner, and the answer was “maybe next week”.

Before Joe ever met him, he never knew that his heart could love this hard.

He brought him a bottle of whisky, and John thanked him, politely and smiling as always, then put it onto the top shelf.

Before he ever met him, Joe never knew he loved to be kissed for days.

He made him breakfast in bed, but John said he wasn’t really hungry, and put the plates aside after a few bites, mechanically stroking Joe’s back, who curled against him, not knowing what to do. 

Before he ever met him, Joe never knew how complete he could be. Completed by him. His personality. His life. His habits. His intellect. His love.

John's rational mind complementing his artistic one.

John's calmness completing Joe's chaos, his desire to go and see and experiment and explore, pulling him back before he overflows, keeping him in sanity.

Here comes another silent night.

Joe has stones in his stomach as he stands in front of their kitchen door, his hand on the handle. He's been standing there for five minutes at least, gathering courage, wishing this life was someone else’s, wishing his life was his own life a month ago.

He closes his eyes.

_He’s young, he feels insignificant and weightless. It’s pleasant, it's winter, it's cold, blizzard blows in his face, his discman gets stuck sometimes, he takes public transportation to college. He’s nineteen years old, his hair is red in the pastel winter world, and he wonders what the future holds._

He wishes it were years ago, a different continent, a different house, a different family.

What will he find inside?

The usual. 

The new normal, the new, fresh normal, not what he's used to.

John is doing the dishes, at least the one plate he ate dinner from.

He didn't even wait for Joe.

"Hello."

John blinks at him, smiling faintly for a second before turning back to the sink.

'Hello'?

Joe snickers in despair. 

He can't take the tension. 

"We gotta talk."

John dries the plate agonizingly slowly, the corners of his mouth curling up in a way that makes Joe mad.

"What are you grinning for? John, what the fuck is going on?"

He steps closer, wanting to grab John, feel his flesh, yank him until he can see his eyes.

John sighs, sadness in his face when he finally looks at him. It’s a sad smile, not a grin as Joe misinterpreted. Like he was expecting this day to come. 

He suddenly hugs Joe tightly, sighing deeply in his neck, and Joe hugs him back, he doesn't want to, but he's hanging onto him like into the shards of last hope.

He inhales John's scent, the scent of home.

John takes a deep breath too as if trying to say something but hesitating, and Joe's whole body feels like a rubber band ready to snap.

"You're right," John steps back then, very quietly, very slowly. "We need to talk."

Joe has goosebumps and his throat clenches, closing the way in front of the words.

"I've been thinking about how to tell you, and I…"

He's watching John's face, watches his mouth opening around a lie.

It has to be a lie.

It can't be anything else.

"I don't feel the way I used to anymore. For you. I’m… I'm going to move out."

Joe's heart stops for a second, his whole face is burning and stinging.

_No._

_NO-_

He can't understand what John says. He can't comprehend it.

"I know it's sudden, and I'm sorry, I truly am. I promise I’ll be… as fast as possible. I have a flight back to London already."

John is not looking at him, and Joe is floating, the memory of their first kiss lingering on his lips, their whole relationship, their future plans, their dog they got and they lost, the grief John helped him through when his father died, their future children they wanted to adopt, the-

No.

“When?” He swallows, tears blurring his vision.

John doesn't look at him, he's looking at his own hands, his long fingers puttering with his engagement ring.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow…”

Joe gave that ring to John, on the top of a castle somewhere in Germany, on their first anniversary. John stared down at him as Joe sank on a knee, his hand in Joe’s, sweaty, excited. John's enchanted smile and teary eyes glistening under the azure sky as he said _yes_ -

 _I don't love you anymore,_ John says.

"John," he forces his throat to form words, but his voice is just a raspy growl. "Don't you think I deserve… a better explanation?"

John looks at him finally, silent begging in his eyes, or maybe pity, Joe can't tell under the veil of tears.

"Joe… I just told you. I'm not in love with you anymore. And-"

_Lies lies_

_LIES_

"-and it's not fair to be together like this-"

Joe squeezes his eyes shut, squeezing out teardrops. He doesn't believe any of that.

The memory of their first night, John wrapped around him tenderly, he couldn't stop whispering in Joe's ear how wonderful he is, and Joe has never felt so alive than at that moment when they came together, their hands twined...

 _I've never loved anyone like you,_ John said.

How, how, how?

John is weeping too, and Joe wants to dry up his tears with his sweater, and he reaches up to wipe down a tear under John’s eyes, and John puts his hand on his, stroking it once with his thumb before sighing and turning aside.

"Please-"

They both say the word at the same time, and they both stop.

"What did I do?" Joe asks, more of himself than John, and John wipes his face.

"You did nothing wrong. Really. I just… I just don't want- to do this. And you, you have such an amazing life ahead of you-"

Before he ever met him, he never knew he could be broken in so many ways.

Joe’s numb as he’s watching John pull off his ring, gently putting it into Joe's hand and closing Joe’s fingers around it, pushing his fist back against his chest.

The way John’s smile curves into a C.

The way he takes care of their dog. 

The way he sings flatly under the shower.

The way he reads and writes his letters, the way his lips close around Joe’s finger.

The way he gets angry, the way he dances, the way his body shivers with pleasure, the way his passion burns, the way the drops of water fall from his hair, how he sleeps, how he loves, how he groans and whispers Joe’s name, how he cuts up a melon, how he stares at the stars, how his eyelashes flutter, how he talks, how he _lives-_

He knows John lies. He fucking knows.

_It’s a fucking LIE_

Because there’s pain in John’s eyes as he looks aside like he can’t take Joe’s sight anymore, and it’s not pity, Joe knows it’s not pity; and the way John’s shoulder hunches as he turns away, and Joe touches his shoulder and John stops mid-movement, and he stands there as Joe hugs him from behind, unmoving, no, it’s not saying goodbye, it’s a promise and Joe holds him tighter-

“Go away. Please.”

“No.”

John is tense, his whole body protesting Joe's hug, but Joe doesn't care. 

“Please, Joe. Breaking up is not easy for me either.”

No—

No, it’s not a breakup, it can't be, the word’s like a shard, tearing up Joe’s chest to reveal his vulnerable, beating heart—

It’s not a breakup because Joe can't handle it. A desperate attempt to bring back the past, like the damned is grabbing for the last crumbs of pleasure with two hands—

“Go away!!”

Joe lets him go like he touched fire, watching John’s back.

“If it’s something I did— I—” His mind is racing, looking for a way out, “I can change if you- just tell me what I did wrong—”

He’s blinded by tears now and John is in front of him, holding onto his shoulders, and Joe cries like a kid, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Joe, you did nothing wrong, I promise.” The voice is mournful and empathetic, and Joe hates him for that, and he hates the tears in John’s eyes because why is he doing this if he’s feeling bad, too? “It’s just… I just— I fell out of love. It happens sometimes—”

John is rubbing his nose and Joe has learned about him enough to know, just simply _know_ that he’s lying.

“I call bullshit! I know you still love me, and I know it’s not—”

John’s face goes hard, he takes Joe’s wrists grabbing at him and pushes him away.

“Joe,” he says, his voice angry and distant, though his eyes are gleaming. “If you… if you ever loved me, if you ever were even a... friend for me— then you let me go."

Joe swallows, stepping back and letting down his hands, his whole body trembling.

John stares at him, a flash of million emotions on his face before it goes expressionless. He turns and heads to what used to be _their_ bedroom, maybe to pack, maybe to prepare to spend the night on the couch.

Joe looks down at the ring in his hand, forgotten, staring at it before gently putting it onto the counter with a soft click.

“You can keep the ring,” he rasps.

John doesn't say anything, and the silhouette of his mournful figure is burnt onto Joe’s retinas forever.

Joe grabs his jacket and leaves, not knowing where.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from a heartbreak is hard - if not impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I might continue this and I did.

_How beautiful life is._

_Joe’s standing on a cliff, staring into the depth under himself, looking at the endless horizon, his plain white t-shirt hugging his body, the wind blowing his hair. Storms are gathering on the horizon, the distant rains painting vertical stripes under the clouds, like black and white god rays of the sun._

_How beautiful life is, how endless the world is, how far time stretches. How perfect the changing of seasons are, green turning to rust and yellow and red, lush leaves becoming dry branches and crispy grass._

_How small and insignificant he is, how deep the buzzing of the storm is, and he closes his eyes, feeling the wind tearing his hair, the scent of distant rain, hearing the deep rumbling of the earth beneath him; and deep inside, magma is flowing, melted stones and smoldering earth swirling._

_He sighs deeply, letting the tears flow freely on his cheeks, the wind turning them cold and sticky, tasting salty on his lips._

_How beautiful life is._

John is gone.

John is gone by the time Joe gets home. He doesn't remember how long he was away for; probably a few days – or just a few hours?

There he is, where only the remnants of his previous life stayed, a life gone like it never even existed. John has packed all of his stuff – not that he had too much. John is not too interested in dressing fancily, or stocking up anything besides books and electrical engineering equipment, he’s not someone to leave his things all over the place.

He probably hired a mover, because everything is gone by the time Joe gets home, into his own apartment – his bachelor apartment. It’s all neat and clean. John’s half of their bookshelves are empty, his razors and toothbrushes and medications from the bathroom are gone, the wardrobe feels so huge now that some shelves are empty. John even selected his socks that got mixed up with Joe’s during the months they lived together, and Joe snorts because he knows John is not cheap, no, he knows that John simply was very careful not to leave any signs that he ever lived there, not to cause Joe any more pain than necessary. 

Joe snorts, but he feels so dead inside, so horribly empty like the upper shelf of his wardrobe.

He looks around, the apartment that used to be his before it became theirs, and now it’s his again. He’s free. Free to bring home anyone he desires. Free to do anything he wants, anytime he wants. Free to get a cat if he wants - John is not very fond of cats, he’s more of a dog person, but Joe didn't mind it. John has many flaws, but Joe has never minded either of them, ever.

He’s tempted to throw himself on the bed, but flashes of John come back at the sight of the pillows, John, sweating between Joe’s arms and legs, kissing him as they made passionate love, and Joe wants to throw up at the sudden, sharp emptiness and stabbing heartache that come at him, and he almost chokes on air.

Even now…

He wanders around his flat, measuring the damage of his life, absentmindedly opening and closing doors without any logic.

Even the wine glasses are gone from the kitchen cabinet, along with Joe’s favorite corkscrew that he got for John, and he curses.

Even now he wouldn't hesitate for a second.

He starts hysterically laughing when he sees that even the fucking handkerchiefs are gone from the drawers – fucking snivel cloths, as Joe used to call them while John rolled his eyes, and Joe laughs, because John is such a fucking old fashioned old man, and Joe loved him for it.

 _I can't believe I have daddy issues,_ he thinks to himself, and then comes to a halt as he sees the ring, resting indifferently on the counter - how come that, of all things John has forgotten about _this?_ Joe growls as he picks it up and throws it across the room until it lands with a soft clink, and Joe’s choking on the sudden rage, so hard that he punches the wall with a fist, and he hates John with such an intense, burning hate as much as he hates himself, it tastes like bile, it tastes like regret, he hits the wall over and over again - “you think” - punch - “ you were too good for me, huh?” - punch - “you should have been” - punch - “fucking grateful that you had me!” - punch punch punch until his knuckles bleed and his whole right hand feels like a burning ball.

He throws himself on the bed, hugging the pillow – John has been so _kind_ that he even changed the bedsheets after himself, and Joe is desperately searching for the remnants of his scent on the pillow that he can't feel anymore, so he pulls the pillow over his face and listens to his own muffled sobbing.

He’d take John back in a second if he asked.

He can’t stay in that flat anymore, not for a single second, he can't even look around anymore. John was almost perversely thorough in removing every trace of himself, except for that fucking ring. Joe is tempted to flush it down the toilet, but instead, he picks it up, puts on his jacket, and throws the ring into the paper cup of the first beggar on the street, not even hearing the words of gratefulness shouted after him.

He books a ticket while striding on the streets.

He moves back in with his mom for a while, planning on doing nothing, but thankfully he has a job to keep himself occupied during the day, and he has his nephews and nieces and his whole, massive family to keep him busy in the evenings. His mom loved John and she's also sad that they broke up, and Joe can cry in her arms because she’s his mom and he’ll always be her little boy, and in her arms everything feels a tiny bit less dark.

It’s nice to be home and play with the children, and weeks and months pass, and Joe finds himself being less sad when playing with the kids that he and John have never had, he can forget about the dog they wanted to get because his mom’s dog is very real and very present and adorable, and Joe gradually learns to honestly laugh again from the bottom of his heart. 

He had loved before, and broke up before, and recovered before, but this time it's different. It feels harder, weird like an undefined ending, a half-truth, a fairy tale where the storyteller got murdered before reaching the closure.

But Joe is strong, and in his family he has learned to face pain, and he’s optimistic that he will recover eventually; and finally, the day comes when he hears a Queen song playing on the radio and he doesn’t want to stick his fingers in his ears and yell _la la la._

But he can’t stay at his mom’s place forever – even though she wouldn't mind it, she’s been a little lonely since his dad died and they got really close in the past months, but he needs to get back to the flow, back to New York, it’s easier to work from there, possible to meet his friends there. He’s been missing them – Michael, Seb, Chris, all the other crazy guys. He’s been missing partying and drinking and the nightlife – he might be getting too old for that, but who cares, because age is just a number, and if John could get rid of him and move on from him, he can get over him, too, and he will, whatever it takes.

He takes a deep breath and clicks on the ‘pay now’ button at the website of the airline, and when it’s time to pack and head back ‘home’, when it’s time to get a taxi, to get on the plane, to fall asleep during a movie, to eat the ‘high cuisine’ business class food and take another taxi and stand in front of his apartment door, he finally thinks he’s ready.

He steps into the hall as if the air was poisonous, but to his surprise, he doesn't feel too struck down by grief. He doesn't feel the need to sell the whole thing, furniture and all, he can stay here and live here again. Sure, he will change a few things, put new pictures on the walls, change the carpet, rearrange the living room - but it’s his place, and John was a part of it and then he left and Joe has to move on, and he _will_ move on.

He sighs as he puts down his backpack and leaves his suitcase in the middle of the hall, and he opens the windows, letting the fresh air in. 

It’s a beautiful summer evening and the lights of the city and setting sun are illuminating the rooms, and he takes off the curtains and switches the places of the coach and the table, and he gets rid of the cushions that John liked so much and he throws out the sweater that John always loved on him and he puts the books that John recommended into a box and he throws out the perfume he got from him and the fox plushie that John bought for him as a silly birthday present; he puts everything in the box: letters, presents, photos - every memory, every single piece of the past, he puts everything in the box and seals it and puts it to the uppermost shelf with the rest of the junk that he’ll take care of later and covers them with other boxes and closes the door on them.

He lays on the bed – that he pushed into a different corner – and watches the city lights dancing on the wall, and he’s panting, weirdly satisfied, and he hugs the pillow and falls asleep, for the first time almost kind of optimistic for the future.

He wakes up in the middle of the night because his face is buried in the pillow and John’s scent hits his nose, his scent that was deeply ingrained into the material, and he sits up and his heart is beating violently, and he runs his hands through his hair and tugs and he groans as he grabs the pillow and throws it across the room, cursing because the scent is so strong, why the fuck is it so strong after _months_ and how dare he, how dare he poison his life like this? How dare he leave him without a proper explanation, with a fucking lie?

Because he _knows_ it was a lie. He knows. He went through their breakup for a thousand times in his head, and it simply doesn't make sense, there were no signs that John fell for somebody else, no signs that he got bored with him, no signs except those last two weeks, and John is not a great pretender, no, he’s very bad at lying, Joe knows when someone’s acting, he knows.

“How dare you,” he groans into his palm, and he’s so pissed at himself for crying again, but the scent is strong in his nose even though it had evaporated weeks ago, John’s scent of deodorant and musk and those fucking stinky cigarettes and old man cologne and sometimes bitter medicine and the texture of his old man sweaters and the pattern of his old man slippers and the texture of his soft white hair and the wrinkles on his old man face that Joe found beautiful even though John always joked that Joe’s a ‘pervy old man fucker’ and Joe always smacked him in the head playfully and John’s laughter was so sweet and his smile was youthful even though he's not young anymore–

Joe gets up and strides around the room and he doesn’t know what to do, he puts on some music even though it must be some stupid o’clock in the morning and he starts cleaning again because he can’t sleep, and he turns the drawers inside out and he reaches for the nightstand to go through some papers he has there–

He goes through the papers, his eyes burning from exhaustion and tears – old bills and contracts and medical papers–

There’s one paper there that appears to be the second page of a medical report.

A report that’s not his.

Joe reads it, his heart beating violently against his ribcage, and he already knows what it’s about, because John forgot this, no matter how careful he was, he forgot this piece of paper, exactly this one, the second page, and Joe has his hands over his mouth, on the verge of fainting. After all, this is what it’s about, what it was always about, and not about him, it has nothing to do with him at all.

Nothing to do with him. Literally.

He lays back in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling, trying to process that John has left him out of this, and this is even worse than that he left him, he feels much more betrayed and abandoned than by the breakup.

Because John hasn't told him that he’s ill, he shut him out, and Joe doesn't even know what he feels anymore, but it’s dark and sucks him down to the bone.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic in a very dark phase of my life, and now I got the inspiration to finish it between two chapters of Forbidden.
> 
> Inspired by Before I Ever Met You by Banks.
> 
> Now I added a second chapter and I will continue.


End file.
